


I Know What You Really Want

by My_Alter_Ego



Series: Love or Lust [5]
Category: White Collar
Genre: Emotional Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Trust Issues, Unresolved Sexual Tension
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-02
Updated: 2018-11-02
Packaged: 2019-08-14 16:16:25
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,119
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16495997
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/My_Alter_Ego/pseuds/My_Alter_Ego
Summary: Neal has reached his limit with deceitful bureaucrats and their lies. He’s about to cut and run, but there’s just one person in his way. Of course, it’s no mystery who that might be. Peter does his best to talk Neal down by offering an alternative to a life on the run.





	I Know What You Really Want

“I know what you really want, Neal,” Peter said fiercely as he stared Neal down. “And I can give it to you.”

The handsome con man, matching him glare for glare, snorted in contempt. “At the risk of sounding like a certain little bald conspiracy theorist, no you can’t, Peter. Face facts—you don’t have anywhere near that kind of clout with the political government complex of deceitful bureaucrats. You cannot get me my freedom!”

“That’s not what we’re actually talking about, Neal,” Peter argued. “You know what you really want, so, for once, be honest and just say it out loud.”

~~~~~~~~~~

If Peter was the one being honest, he would admit that he had known, almost from the beginning, that it would one day come down to this one poignant moment in time. For a long parade of years, he had endured a roller coaster ride of conflicting emotions, and, just like Neal, he had worn many different hats during that time.

His role seemed to evolve as the years passed. Maybe, at the very beginning, the first little seeds of his personal dichotomy had been sown long before the con man ever became his CI. It had been an exhilarating challenge from the moment a young upstart, with no confirmed identity, emerged on the scene. Peter liked smart people, and when the brilliant Neal Caffrey became more fleshed out than just raw statistics on a page, Peter was hooked. So, during their epic chase, a dedicated FBI man played his part as a tenacious hunter.

There’s an old saying: “Be careful what you wish for.” Eventually, Peter caught the ingenious miscreant, and actually found himself a bit disappointed for a couple of reasons. Primarily, Peter hadn’t run his quarry to ground with some dazzling strategy worthy of their chess game. Instead, he had underhandedly manipulated a pining young lover. The second reason, however, was a bit more difficult to analyze. Eventually, when Peter figured it out, the FBI agent realized that it was very simple—he would miss Neal Caffrey.

Now, a very perplexed Peter knew that feeling of loss just didn’t compute. Why should he feel bad about taking a criminal off the streets? A bit unnerved, Peter felt that he needed to move on, so he carefully packed up his “Caffrey” box and stuck it in a closet. Case closed, no more deep pondering and strategizing was necessary. The world had righted itself on its axis, and there were other engaging challenges to face in the criminal arena. However, in Peter’s mind, none of the new scoundrels could hold a candle to the handsome and cheeky one with the unusual Caribbean blue eyes. It was then that Peter decided the role of melancholy, erstwhile  protagonist was not a good look on him.

Fast-forward almost four years to a slickly-orchestrated jailbreak but a less than stellar follow-up escape. What later unfolded was an unusual offer from prison, a deal eventually taken, and a tracking anklet. Now Peter was determined to play the role of an overseeing mentor with the objective of keeping Neal on the straight and narrow. However, pulling off the parental role was easier said than done. Even though Peter knew Neal was marching to the beat of a different drummer, the older man found himself enjoying their easy camaraderie of innuendo and bantering barbs, and he became a bit more flexible. After all, the old axiom of the carrot and the stick usually worked better in the long run. Of course, Neal was smart, so he’d eventually see the light and fall in line.

Down the road, the worst role that Peter was forced to play was that of a protective and consoling presence on a cold airport tarmac. He felt completely inept and powerless as he held a sobbing young man in his arms. For once, this was a dilemma Peter couldn’t fix, and he was as heartsick as his traumatized CI. Suddenly, it was gut-wrenching to realize he could have lost Neal that day. Maybe, it took a cataclysm of monumental proportions to make Peter aware of his feelings, so it was a newly self-enlightened man who tried to infuse every ounce of his emotional strength as well as his fervent “love” into a broken shell of one.

Peter was never one to lie to himself. Yes, this fascinating phenomenon was a case of forbidden adult attraction with all of its sexual allure. He felt it when Neal was sitting beside him in the claustrophobic space of a car or the cluttered surveillance van. Peter would get a whiff of Neal’s expensive aftershave and swear that it was pheromones tantalizing his nether regions. Peter found it hard to drag his hand away from the small of Neal’s back or the nape of his neck. He forced himself to be on guard against being too touchy-feely. It was hard to do, but he really hoped that Neal hadn’t intuited the waring emotions within his handler.

Nonetheless, Peter fantasized, and found himself getting turned on imagining what he would see if he ever got Neal out of one of his vintage suits. It was especially hard on the older man’s libido when Neal was togged out in tight cat burglar black jeans that hugged his slim hips. On rare occasions, Peter let his mind wander down a very dark alley. What if he acted on one of these impossible impulses, and that unwise move succeeded in freaking out the person he was supposed to be rehabilitating? Maybe Neal would be offended and reject the overture with disdainful scorn. Peter couldn’t take that chance, and how was it even possible for a man to love his wife and his professional male partner with such intensity. It just made no sense.

So, day after day, month after month, the play continued on life’s stage. During the following acts, there were many, many instances of suspicion, distrust, and disappointment. There were finger-pointing episodes and aggressively hostile arguments. There were also many casualties in that war. Neal lost a possible happily-ever-after with Sara Ellis, and then also lost Ellen, the kind woman who helped raise him. The ultimate angst involved Neal’s own father and the man’s deceptive betrayal. Peter suffered his own losses, too, being imprisoned for a crime he didn’t commit. He resented Neal for engineering his exoneration, and it almost broke them into pieces.

Sometimes, Peter wondered how he could love the man but hate the behavior. But, to be fair, not all of Neal’s capers were nefarious. Peter distinctly remembered how Neal had gotten embroiled in an organ broker operation because of June’s granddaughter. He also clearly recalled a drugged and unfiltered Neal looking up at him with candid eyes as he admitted his trust in Peter. The surprised agent thought that he saw something more in that admission, but maybe he was deluding himself and seeing what he wanted to see.

But he couldn’t forget how that embrace from Neal felt when Peter had flown half way around the world in his role as savior. The worried man had actually left New York with his wife’s blessing. “You know that you love Neal, Peter, so do whatever it takes to bring him back to us safely.” El’s eyes spoke volumes that were much more explicit than her words. Neal’s eyes held that same expression of hope and longing when they again met on a little island, and Peter knew he hadn’t imagined the feel of the young man’s body responding to his touch. At that moment, Peter realized he and Neal had always been bound together by more than just a tracking device.

Now, many months later, Neal was determined to get rid of that anklet—the visual proof of his indentured servitude to the FBI as well as his connection to his handler. He felt that he had gone above and beyond for the government bureaucracy, and it was time to cut the cord. Quite a few trees had been sacrificed to print out the reams of paper outlining Mozzie’s contract for Neal’s release. It was legitimate and justified and needed to be signed, sealed, and delivered to the powers that be. It should have gone like clockwork, but the machinations of political bullies know no bounds. The manipulators added some fine print to create loopholes, and a resentful and angry Neal was about to do something outrageously impulsive after Peter told him of the cunning treachery.

 They were now in Neal’s loft as Peter watched the disgruntled and fuming CI add a few last minute things to his go-bag.

“You’re about to do something really stupid, Neal,” Peter argued, using the same lame warning that he had used so many times in the past.

“Don’t try to stop me, Peter,” Neal warned.

“Just think about this for a minute, Neal—think about us,” Peter pleaded.

“There is no _‘us,'_ Peter,” Neal disagreed. “It’s always been just a cop and a criminal trying to work together. Don’t try to make it into something it wasn’t.”

“We became so much more than that,” Peter said fiercely as he stared Neal down. “You’ve never lied to me, Buddy, so please don’t start now. In your heart, I know what you really want, and I can give that to you.”

“You’re not Superman, Peter. You don’t have some phenomenal power that can get me my freedom!” the con man said decisively with an eye roll.

“Don’t deflect, Neal! That’s not what we’re actually talking about, and you know it,” Peter argued. “Just, for once, be honest and say it out loud. Say it! Admit that you want me in a way that’s much more personal than an overseeing handler. And, God help me, I want you just as badly. I love you, Neal, and I don’t want you to leave me.”

Neal opened his mouth to respond but no sound emerged, and when had he ever been at a loss for words?  He had an intelligent, facile mind making it so easy for appropriately deceptive answers to just naturally roll off his tongue. For almost all of his life, he had taken great pride in his ability to be unfathomable, only letting the world and those in it see what he wanted them to see. He was an expert chameleon, an actor on life’s stage playing various roles. Sometimes, he didn’t even know who the real person was that resided in his body.

However, on dark, quiet nights in his lonely bed, Neal sometimes let his “inner child” wander about in the swirling miasma of his thoughts. What did he really desire? Of course, he wanted to be free—who doesn’t? But he also wanted to have a permanent connection to “something” or “somebody.” He wanted to be involved in something bigger than just his microscopically-focused world of the next con. He ached to find that “one” person whom he could love and who would love him back. He was on a quest, and probably had been for his entire life. He always pictured himself like Don Quixote, lance and shield in hand, pursuing the impossible dream.

Then Neal had an epiphany. It hadn’t occurred like the proverbial “bolt out of the blue.” Self-awareness had taken an insidious route. Mozzie would have cynically pontificated that it takes awhile for Stockholm Syndrome to set in. Nonetheless, Neal began to recognize feelings of attraction that he could no longer slough off as the result of too much fine wine. He was drawn to Peter, but not as some father figure. Of course, yearning for Peter was a ludicrous idea to even contemplate because the FBI agent was forbidden fruit. Besides, they were poles apart in everything. Neal was cappuccino in the clouds while Peter was beer and hotdogs—the epitome of the Odd Couple. If Neal was a chameleon, then Peter was a chimera—a fantasy and an illusion. Now, here in Neal’s loft at the eleventh hour, that fantasy was offering the Holy Grail, but Neal was backpedaling as fast as he could.

“You don’t want me to lie, but that’s just what you’re doing, Peter,” Neal said defensively.

“I’m not lying,” Peter answered softly.

“Yes, you are!” Neal was suddenly more strident. “If this isn’t you trying to con me, then it’s just plain lust talking. It’s certainly not love because you would never betray El like that.”

“I’m not betraying anyone, Neal,” Peter protested. “El is very intuitive, and she figured this thing out long before I ever recognized the truth. El loves you, too, Neal.”

Neal shook his head and a cynical little smile played on his lips. “So, how is all this supposed to work, Peter? Do I stay in New York and become the Burke family’s dirty little secret? Do I continue on infinitum at the Bureau playing my role as their trick pony that they trot out whenever they want to show off my mélange of clever moves? Maybe I think that I deserve more.”

“You do deserve more, Neal, and, together, we’ll work to get justice for you. I’m not denigrating Mozzie’s expertise, but we should find the shrewdest legal minds in the realm—the vicious courtroom Pit Bulls—to argue that your civil liberties have been violated and you got a raw deal. It will probably evolve into an epic David and Goliath battle. Hell, maybe it will become a test case that makes its way up the food chain to the Supreme Court. But at least we’ll be proactive and fighting together. It sure beats the hell out of running away from a problem.”

“Why do you want to put your career in jeopardy, Peter?” Neal asked with suddenly guileless eyes.

Peter held his breath for a second before answering. “I told you, Buddy. I love you, and I think you’re worth the risk.”

When Neal just stared, Peter kept pleading his case. “You know me, Neal, and you know that I don’t make snap decisions on a whim. I look at things from every perspective and then I go with my gut, and that intuition has had almost four years to crystalize. My gut tells me that you have feelings for me that have nothing to do with pretending to be one of the good guys, and it certainly has no connection to primal lust. I know you love me, too, even if you’re afraid to say the words out loud.”

Now Peter was slowly inching towards the rigid and solemn young man. When he was within arm’s length, Peter put a hand on either side of Neal’s shoulders and captured his gaze. “You once told me a long time ago on a cold airport tarmac by the Hudson that I was the only one who could change your mind and make you want to stay. Let me do that same thing now, Neal. Let me change your mind as well as your life so that I can be a part of you in every way that matters.”

For a long moment, a wary and vulnerable young man remained unmoved. Then the tenseness seemed to slowly leach from his body and his head came to rest on Peter’s chest. Peter took that as the final surrender in this conflict, and gently starting walking Neal backward towards that huge tiger oak bed. As he laid the slender young man down, Peter tried to steady his own clumsy hands so that he could undo buttons and zippers. Neal finally sighed deeply, and began to assist Peter with bits of clothing in a slow-motion striptease. When they were gloriously naked, and Peter could finally see, touch, and ultimately feel Neal’s body heat, all coherent thoughts left the staid older man’s mind. This was the culmination of a dance that had been going on for years.

Neal reveled in Peter’s attention. He felt flushed and hot, but, at the same time, gooseflesh speckled his arms as Peter moved his hands and his mouth over Neal’s willing body. An urgent tongue scorched his skin and strong hands pulled and probed with impunity. Neal was content to let Peter roam freely and do as he wished, but was a bit startled when the journey meandered between his firm buttocks. Neal couldn’t suppress a moan brought on by sheer somatic pleasure.

“I want …. I want …,” Neal found himself babbling incoherently.

“I know what you want,” Peter whispered softly as he used his own saliva to moisten his fingers and take it to the next level. Neal spread his thighs and pulled his knees up to afford Peter easier access while fumbling blindly for the night table drawer. He finally managed to grasp a tube of lubricant and give it to Peter while panting and writhing. Neal was now lost in his own erotic Eden, wanting to feel Peter’s firm strength inside of him. He wanted to be taken, or perhaps, a better word would be, “claimed.”

“Now, Peter!” he mumbled as he sought to engulf the FBI agent’s rigid cock inside his deep recess.

Peter acquiesced to Neal’s desire, and entered him with slow, controlled pushes until he did claim that sensual victory. It was a beautiful waltz, and Neal arched up to meet every one of Peter’s easy thrusts. Now an older man had a younger one’s hands clasped in his own. He was holding on to what had once been a fantasy but was now real in every way. It was definitely lust, but it was also something so much deeper. It was pure love.

Of course, the intense desire to reach the top of the mountain happened in a frenzy of motion, with each man falling off the precipice almost as one. Later, they lay languidly contented and fulfilled on silk sheets, and slowly came back to the confines of earth.

“We’ll make things right, Neal,” Peter intoned solemnly as his brown eyes stared into Neal’s blue ones. “Then you’ll have the life that you deserve, and the one that I desperately want for you.”

“But what if it doesn’t get sorted out, Peter?” Neal asked quietly. “What happens to me then—to us?”

Peter smiled fondly. “Well, I guess there’s always Paris, Neal. Do you think the French Police Prefecture could use another gendarme? We could assume new roles. You could be the Pink Panther and I could be the bumbling but endearing Inspector Clouseau. El would love to be our muse and enhance our characters.”

Neal found himself smiling. For the first time since he had been a naïve, dreamy kid on a New York street, he felt that there might be a happy ending to his story.


End file.
